


just keep breathing

by roses_are_red_only_in_the_summertime



Category: White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Awesome Elizabeth Burke (White Collar), Gen, Mozzie is a good friend, Neal Caffrey Needs a Hug, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Past Neal Caffrey/Kate Moreau
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28504872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roses_are_red_only_in_the_summertime/pseuds/roses_are_red_only_in_the_summertime
Summary: ** END OF SEASON 1 SPOILERS **After Kate’s death, Neal keeps having nightmares. He isn’t sleeping, and starts having panic attacks. Determined not to let Peter know, he pretends he’s alright while at work.He can’t pretend forever.
Relationships: Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke/Elizabeth Burke
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> greetings :)
> 
> this is my first fanfic and I’m so excited to see what you think. I’d love to hear some feedback!
> 
> (theres a song by zoe wees that helped inspire this if you’d like to listen to it, it’s called Control)
> 
> enjoy!!

Neal couldn’t sleep.

He hadn’t slept properly in days, nightmares waking him every few hours. He’d toss and turn until exhaustion dragged him under, only to wake up shaking and breathless. Sometimes he dreamt of prison, of the nights in his cell where he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, and other times he dreamt of Kate, and the plane, and being blamed for her death. Sometimes his nightmares started off having nothing to do with reality, but Peter or Kate or Mozzie somehow always found a way in.

It got to a point where he avoided going to sleep, instead staying up to paint until he could barely keep his eyes open. If anything the exhaustion made it worse, not stopping the nightmares but making him unable to wake up from them, so he went right back to tossing and turning.

All in all, though, it was manageable. If he went to bed early enough he could get enough sleep to make it through the day, his usual Caffrey charm enough to stop anyone from getting too suspicious. The thrill of cases would usually be enough to keep his mind off the dreams, so restlessness and anxiety only really hit him at night.

He’d been putting in longer hours at work, all of it a welcome distraction from the subject of his nightmares. It was a little past nine when Peter came down from his office to find the young conman still at his desk.

“Neal?” he said, hesitating only for a second before coming down the stairs. “What are you still doing here?”

“Hm? Oh, I was just finishing a sketch of the vault. Felt like we were missing something, and we were. There’s a panel on this wall,” he hands the sketch to Peter and points at the empty space near the bottom. “It’s probably worth taking a look.”

Peter glanced down at what he was indicating before looking back up at Neal, his expression softening a little. “That’s good work. We can go look at it first thing tomorrow morning.”

“I wouldn’t mind-”

“Go home, Neal. It’s late. I’ll see you in the morning, alright?”

Neal wanted to argue, to say he didn’t feel like going home and would much rather keep working, needed to keep working, but then he’d have to explain why, so he bit his tongue.

“Goodnight, Peter,” he said instead.

That night was particularly bad. No matter what he did he couldn’t fall asleep until well past one in the morning, the explosion coming back to him every time he closed his eyes.

When he did drift off it was into a fitful and uneasy sleep, the nightmares worse than usual.

_They were at the hanger, and he was kissing Kate. She was in his arms, laughing, smiling up at him…_

_She was insisting they board the plane. He tried to warn her, tried to stop her, but his feet were glued to the ground and his voice was gone. He struggled, tried to move but his feet wouldn’t, tried to scream but his throat couldn’t. As she stepped into the plane he gave up, sinking to his knees and squeezing his eyes shut. He wasn’t surprised by the explosion that followed._

_“You left me, Neal. You left me to die. It’s not fair that I’m dead. You should’ve died too.”_

He woke up with a start, realising a little too late that tears were streaming down his face. He couldn’t take in enough air no matter how many times he gasped, sobs shaking his lean frame.

He tried to stop tears, to calm down and regain control, but all he could see was Kate, and the plane, and the marshals dragging him away in cuffs thinking he’d been involved.

_They were right. You killed her._

And suddenly he couldn’t breathe. He could feel his heart pounding, loud and disorientating in his head. The room was spinning, tilting and righting itself and tilting again.

_Kate’s dead… she died, she’s dead… it’s my fault she’s dead... I should be dead, not Kate… Kate can’t be dead… she shouldn’t have died, but she’s dead…_

He wasn’t sure how long he was lying there, barely breathing and unable to calm down, sobbing and shaking with no sense of what was real or what wasn’t. Everything hurt. His throat, his chest, his limbs. It felt like he was dying, like the world was stopping, and there wasn’t a thing he could do.

When he did finally manage to stop, close to passing out from the exhaustion and lack of oxygen, the first of the morning light had only just appeared on the other side of the New York skyline.

_What had just happened? Was something wrong? Is that what a heart attack felt like?_

Neal reached for his phone and saw it was almost six, and after debating whether or not it was too early to call Mozzie he gave in, deciding his friend probably wouldn’t mind.

He’d have time to feel guilty after the terror wore off.

“Neal?” Mozzie asked on the other end of the line, and it was clear the CI had just woken his friend up.

“Sorry, Moz.” He hadn’t completely caught his breath yet, so it came out shaky and huffed.

“Neal? Is something wrong?” Mozzie asked, clearly a little alarmed. “Do I need to call the suit?”

“No,” Neal answered quickly, deciding he never wanted Peter to know about this. “Don’t call Peter.”

“Okay. I won’t.” Neal let out a long breath at the assurance, the knot in his chest loosening a little. “Are you okay?”

Mozzie’s voice was quiet and concerned, nothing like the indignant tone it usually adopted as he spurted conspiracies. He sounded scared and for the first time Neal started to feel guilty for calling him.

He took it as a good sign.

“Neal?” Mozzie’s voice called again, reminding the CI he needed to say something.

“No.” It was a quiet confession, and he almost suspected Mozzie hadn’t heard him, but then he heard the faint sound of the New York traffic on the other end of the line.

“Are you home?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m coming over.” And with that he hung up.

It was almost half an hour before Neal heard the familiar knock on his door. Standing made him a little lightheaded but he ignored it, opening the door just a fraction before leaning against the wall and closing his eyes to stop the room from tilting. He felt Mozzie come in and close the door, stopping right in front of him.

“What happened?”

“Nightmare,” Neal replied quietly, keeping his eyes closed.

“You wouldn’t have called if it was just that.”

Neal opened his eyes a little, sighing softly. He moved to sit on his bed and ran his hands through his hair, not really sure how to explain what had happened.

“I couldn’t breathe, Moz. I woke up and I couldn’t catch my breath. The room was spinning, I could hear… I could hear Kate’s voice in my head. Telling me I should’ve died too.” It was all he could do to keep his voice steady. “I don’t know what happened.”

It was a while before Mozzie spoke. “That sounds like a panic attack.”

Neal looked up at his friend, surprise and confusion all over his face. _No wonder he’s so shaken up_ , Mozzie thought. _He probably thought something was seriously wrong._

“A panic attack is an episode of intense fear and anxiety. Some say the government have found ways to replicate the brainwaves of people during an attack to use as a torture method, but I find the evidence-”

“Moz.”

“Right. Sorry. Point is, they’re not dangerous. Just terrifying.”

Neal drops his gaze to the floor, the exhaustion and shame hitting him all at once. He’d called Moz for nothing, he was fine. He’d freaked out, dragged Mozzie out of bed and to June’s house for nothing.

“Sorry, Moz,” he said, “for waking you up.”

“Don’t apologise, _mon frère_. You called, so I came.”

He was about to thank Mozzie for everything but his alarm went off just then, reminding him he had work in an hour.

“Shit,” he muttered, turning it off. “I need to get ready for work.”

Mozzie stopped him as he got up, pushing him gently back onto the bed. “No offence, but you look awful. I don’t think the suit will mind if you take today off. You look in no condition to help the feds.”

Neal didn’t like it but Mozzie was right. If he showed up to work like this Peter would send him home anyway, but was bound to ask questions beforehand.

“Okay,” he agreed, the prospect of going back to sleep both welcoming and terrifying. “Let me call Peter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! have a wonderful day :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here’s chapter 2
> 
> it’s a little on the short side, so apologies in advance. all mistakes are my own
> 
> enjoy :)

When Neal called in sick Peter had half a mind to go and check he wasn’t pulling something, but judging by how he’d sounded over the phone he was fairly certain his CI really was sick.

The day was uneventful without Neal around. He had Jones check his tracking data a few times throughout the day, just to double check Neal really was where he said he was, but found the little red dot hadn’t moved since the conman got home last night.

Neal had gone back to sleep almost as soon as the call with Peter ended, too exhausted to worry about the dreams that might come.

Mozzie sat on the sofa with a book, glancing up at his friend every so often. He was soundly asleep, chest rising and falling steadily.

If he was being perfectly honest, Mozzie admired the kid. For his talent, sure, but also for his strength. Even now he still looked pale, his hair and clothes clinging to him, noticeably darker shadows hanging under his eyes. But he’d been fully ready to walk into that fed infested building and do his job.

It was with a fond smile that Mozzie continued to watch him, remembering every good moment they’d ever shared. Despite everything they were still here, alive and well to con another day. As much as he hated the idea of Neal working for the feds, he couldn’t deny it had done the young conman a world of good. The job grounded him, and the suit kept his head on straight. Neal might still be imprisoned and at the FBI’s mercy, but he was happier than Mozzie had seen him in a long time.

It was almost midday when he noticed Neal’s breathing had changed. He was inhaling short, sharp breaths, and his face had turned to a small frown. Mozzie got up and went over to sit beside him, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Neal?” he said, shaking it gently. “Wake up, Neal.”

“Don’t send m’ back,” the conman muttered, curling into himself. “Please don’t send m’ back. I don’t wanna go back, you said you wouldn’t… you wouldn’t…”

“Neal?” Mozzie said louder, at a loss for what else to do.

Neal woke up suddenly, eyes snapping open. It took a second for him to remember he was home, and that it had just been a nightmare, but eventually he calmed down enough to sink back into his pillow.

It was then that he noticed Mozzie sitting by his legs, a hand still on his shoulder.

“You okay?”

Neal sat up, ignoring the question. They both knew the answer was no. His clothes stuck to him and his throat was uncomfortably dry, so he ditched his shirt and went into the kitchen for a glass of water.

“What time is it?” he asked Mozzie, after downing the glass.

“Almost twelve.”

Neal didn’t say anything for almost a full minute, instead staring at the empty glass in his hand. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

When he didn’t move, Mozzie decided he should give him some space.

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” he said, grabbing his coat and heading to the door. This seemed to snap Neal out of whatever he was thinking about.

“Thanks, Moz. For everything.”

“No problem. Take care, _mon frère_.”

Neal stopped trying to keep himself together after he heard the door close. He let out a shaky breath before heading straight into the bathroom for a shower, hoping the hot water would wash away the tension in his muscles. He let the tears fall and mix with the rest of the water, and didn’t try to stop the sobs that eventually came.

Everything was too much.

He didn’t know how much longer he could handle the sleepless nights, and the nightmares, and the tight feeling he got in his chest whenever he thought about Kate or prison. What he did know was that the panic attack earlier wasn’t going to be the last if things kept going the way they were, and he definitely couldn’t handle another one of those.

Neal returned to work the next day, pretty well rested all things considered. The rest of the week flew by without incident, but the nightmares didn’t stop. He was just grateful that the case he and Peter were assigned to was interesting enough to keep his mind off of everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked that! chapter 3 coming soon :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one’s a little longer. as always,
> 
> enjoy!

The next time he woke up from a particularly bad nightmare he knew almost instantly he was having another attack, but if anything the knowledge made it worse. The thought of lying there, barely breathing and helpless to stop it for what would ultimately feel like hours was too much to think about. He tried to focus instead on breathing. 

He didn’t call Mozzie once it was over, even though he’d promised he would, instead rolling over onto his side and trying to fall back asleep. He had work in a few hours, and Mozzie needed sleep.

He didn’t keep track of how many more times this happened. Three weeks passed and on bad nights he’d wake up to an attack, sweaty and dizzy and nauseous. If he was lucky he managed to calm down before any turned into a full-out attack, and if he was really lucky, he was able to endure the insomnia and nightmares with nothing more than weariness. It was exhausting, and terrifying, and he desperately wanted someone to sit with him and tell him it was okay, that he'd be okay, but knew it couldn’t happen. He didn’t want to bother Mozzie and Peter could never know. 

The one thing that he could always count on, though, was that he could keep them from interfering with work. By the time he stepped into the office the attacks seemed like a distant and horrible dream, and it was reassuring to know that, however terrifying, they only came at home, late at night and when he was safely in his own bed, with no one there to witness him at his weakest. 

  
  


That didn’t last long, unfortunately. 

He’d woken up that morning with an uneasy tightness in his chest, the anxiety hovering over him like a cloud. He could feel it’s influence, in the feeling of his chest and how hard it was to take a deep breath, or in how he could hardly focus at all. The thought of being this anxious at work worried him, and the thought of having an attack in the office terrified him, but he had a job to do.

He was fine, mostly, at least to begin with. He could tell Peter suspected something was wrong but either wasn’t concerned enough to ask or knew it was better to just leave him alone. He kept his head down, worked hard and did his best to keep the usual Caffrey charm up. 

He almost thought he would be fine, but then he heard two new agents talking about Kate just as he was heading back to his desk with coffee, and everything just spiralled from there. 

“You think he had something to do with it?” one of the agents asked, not noticing Neal was nearby and listening. “I mean… he’s a felon, sure, but supposedly not a murderer. It would take a real psycho to blow up their own girlfriend.”

“Dude, the guy is a career criminal. Who knows what he’s capable of?”

“Burke trusts him. And I don’t think the supermax would’ve let him out if he was that dangerous.”

“True. I’m still not terribly keen on him walking around, though. Probably could’ve pulled some strings, convinced the right people that he wasn’t dangerous.”

One of the agents laughed. “You’re scared of the guy?”

“Aren’t you? I’ll feel better when I’m back in organised crime or he’s back behind bars.”

Neal was used to overhearing this kind of discussion about him, of course. Newer agents always had doubts, and while some never said anything around him he knew they all thought about it at least at some point. What he wasn’t used to was the suggestion that he was capable of blowing up Kate, and the thought that some of the agents were actually scared of what he’d do. 

_ Any one of them could send me back for any reason they wanted.  _

He pulled at the collar of his shirt, hoping it would make breathing a little easier. His hand was beginning to shake so he went back to his desk and put the coffee down, deciding not to sit. The tightness in his chest had gotten significantly worse, and he was considering loosening his tie if it meant he would breathe easier. 

_ Now is not the time to have a panic attack. Pull yourself together, you need to get back to those files.  _

_ What happens if you do have one, though? Everyone will stare. They’ll think it’s a con, a way to get out of work, no one will believe you or help you. You’ll pass out, make a fool of yourself, get sent back to prison.  _

Neal knew he couldn’t stand there anymore, not if he was going to have another attack. So he focused all of his energy on keeping the room from tilting and heading into the bathroom without drawing attention to himself, which he managed to do just fine considering he barely knew where he was or who he was passing. 

He was hyperventilating by the time he got to the bathroom, his tie half off and his top button undone. He went into the first stall he saw and locked it, leaning against the door and closing his eyes. 

_ What if someone walks in? What if Peter goes looking for you? What if he comes in and calls your name, thinking you’re up to something? Are you going to unlock the door and let him see you like this? He already thinks you’re trouble, he’s going to send you right back to prison.  _

He could feel the world tilting and did his best to suppress the wave of nausea that came with it, still unable to get his breathing under control. He was gasping for air and struggling to stay upright, and there was nothing he could do and no one he could turn to. 

Against his better judgment he sat down on the toilet and rested his head against the stall wall, the new position helping him regain his bearings. The room slowly came back into focus, the nausea faded and his breathing calmed. His throat was dry as he tried to swallow down the last of the anxiety, not sure what he was going to do now. 

He redid his top button and tie before unlocking the stall and stepping out, finding the bathroom empty by some miracle. The reflection that stared back at him from the mirrors was a pale and fragile-looking man, a shell of what Neal Caffrey usually was. It scared him just as much as it appalled him to see himself like this. 

“Hey Caffrey,” Jones said, stopping as he saw Neal. The door shut audible behind him and snapped the conman out of his head. 

“Hey. I was just heading out.”

“Peter’s looking for you. Asked me to tell you if I saw you.”

If Jones could tell something was wrong he said nothing, instead walking right past Neal and towards the urinals. 

“Great. Thanks.” The CI didn’t stay there a minute longer than he had to, opening the door and weaving his way back through the maze of corridors that led to Peter’s office.

  
  


He thought about telling Mozzie that he’d had one at work, but that would only make him lecture Neal on why Peter should know, so he eventually decided against it. It wasn’t like his friend could do much about it, anyway. 

“ _ Mon frère _ ,” Mozzie greeted as he stepped into the apartment, holding a bottle of wine. 

“Moz.”

Neal tuned the shorter man out as he rambled about conspiracies and the latest hearsay of the criminal world. He kept going back to what those two agents had said, and what had happened afterwards, and what he would’ve done if Jones had walked in a minute earlier. 

“Neal?” Mozzie said, probably not for the first time. 

“Hm?”

“I know you never listen to what I’m saying but at least you normally pretend to.”

Mozzie was more concerned than annoyed and Neal knew it, so he refrained from retorting with some smartass comment. 

“It’s just been a long day, Moz.”

“Define ‘long’. Was it, I-need-something-stronger-than-wine long, or I-need-to-sleep-and-time-to-think long?”

Neal couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. “Definitely the first.” Mozzie started to get up but he held a hand out, gesturing for him to sit back down. “But I’ve got work tomorrow and I do not need a hangover while dealing with mortgage fraud.”

Mozzie smiled sympathetically before reaching over and refilling their glasses. 

  
  


“Come in.” 

It was late, and Peter was still sitting in his office when Jones knocked carefully on the door and walked in, shutting the door behind him. 

“Hey boss. I wasn’t sure if I should say anything, but then Diana mentioned Caffrey looked a little off earlier…”

“Neal? You think something’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. He was acting weird, and when I ran into him in the bathroom he looked like he’d just been sick.”

Peter took the information in, thinking carefully back to everything that had happened that day. Yes, his CI had been a little pale and quiet, but nothing particularly unusual. Then again, Neal had also looked exhausted over the last few weeks, his face twisting into a pained tiredness whenever he let the facade drop. Peter hadn’t thought anything of it, deciding it was just Neal masking his feelings with his usual Caffrey charm and dropping the charade from time to time, but maybe there was more to it. 

“Thanks, Jones. I’ll keep an eye on him. If you think he’s gonna do something stupid come talk to me, but otherwise give him some space.”

Jones nodded, and turned to head out. “Thanks, boss. Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked that! chapter 4 will be on its way soon :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m back!
> 
> here’s chapter 4 :)

It had been almost two weeks since Neal’s attack at the office, and a whole week since he’d had one at all. He would’ve been optimistic about his problem getting better, but judging from the tightness in his chest he’d woken up with, today was not going to be easy. 

Peter had kept an eye on Neal ever since Jones mentioned something seeming off, but it wasn’t until that morning that he noticed anything particularly wrong. 

He’d watched as the young conman grinned his usual grin as he walked into the office, the smile unnaturally forced, sat himself down and buried himself in paperwork, something that had never happened in all the time he’d worked at the FBI. Neal hated paperwork with a passion, and that alone should’ve been enough for Peter to go down and check up on him. 

Then again, maybe he’d decided to cowboy up and get some work done. 

Neal had hardly said a word all morning, and that worried Peter a little. To begin with he’d chalked it up to a poor night’s sleep, or a sour mood leaving him with the desire to be left alone for a while, but when lunch rolled around and Neal still hadn’t moved, Peter decided it was time to say something. 

“Hey Neal?” he asked, stopping at the conman’s desk. Neal looked up briefly before turning back to the file in front of him, picking up where he’d left off. 

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to grab some lunch? I’m starving.”

Neal looked up at his handler as if he didn’t quite understand the question, but nodded anyway. 

“Yeah… I, uh… I’ll be right down,” he said as smoothly as he could manage. 

In truth, he didn’t really want to move. He was tired and restless and on edge. He’d felt off from the moment he’d woken up, his anxiety getting the better of him, and he wasn’t sure he could handle an entire hour of eating and smiling and pretending to Peter that nothing was wrong. 

Peter was waiting by the elevators, though, eyeing him with a mix of concern and suspicion, so he closed the file, picked up his hat and hoped he’d feel better after some fresh air.

As it turned out, the busy streets of New York only made him feel worse. The multitude of smells, sounds, people, sensory demands… it was all he could do was keep putting one foot in front of the other, and it must’ve shown. 

No no no no. This can’t be happening. Peter… I can’t fall apart around Peter… he can’t know, he’ll… he’ll send me back, I can’t go back… 

“Neal?” Peter says, pulling his CI aside to let the flow of New Yorkers past. “What’s wrong?”

Neal knew Peter was trying to keep the worry out of his voice but it was still there, and maybe if he wasn’t in the middle of a busy street trying not to hyperventilate he would’ve felt guilty. 

He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak, his breathing already too fast to be normal. He could feel Peter talking to him but his words were distant, quickly becoming part of the overwhelming torrent of information that his brain couldn’t quite piece together. At some point he must’ve started falling forward because next thing he knew Peter’s hand was on his chest, steadying him against the wall. 

Peter’s going to send me back… I’m going to go back… he’s going to realise I’m not worth it and lock me back up… I can’t go back, but he’s going to send me back, I’m going to have to go back...

“Neal!” Peter said, trying to remain calm himself. The young conman didn’t seem to be hearing him, his breathing only quickening as Peter moved forward. He began to sway, the lack of oxygen finally reaching his head, and as he began to slip forward Peter put a hand firmly on his chest, pushing him gently against the wall. “Easy there,” the agent said, not sure what else to do. He was way out of his depth. 

But then Neal looked up, first focusing on Peter’s hand and then on his face, his breathing slowing a little as he met Peter’s eyes. The agent jumped at the opportunity to try and calm his partner down. 

“Neal? Listen to me. You’re okay. Everything’s okay. Breathe, alright? Keep breathing.”

The young conman nodded, the breaths shaky at first but slowly more even and controlled. As soon as the panic melted away guilt and shame took its place, and he could no longer quite bring himself to look Peter in the eye. He slid down a little against the wall, exhausted and all too aware of what had just happened.

Peter didn’t say anything. He stood back now that Neal had regained most of his composure, trying to give his partner some breathing room. He watched the younger man carefully, noticing the slight shaking in his hands as he ran them through his hair, his eyes looking everywhere but up at Peter. 

Peter knew. Peter had just seen him break down, powerless to stop the wave of anxiety that had been trying to drown him all day. Peter has seen him lean against a New York building, weak and fragile and vulnerable, close to tears and barely breathing enough to keep himself conscious. Neal was a liability. He was more trouble than he was worth and that meant he had to go back to prison, where he belonged. 

That was almost enough to start the hyperventilating again, but instead he took another shaky breath and swallowed down the panic as best he could. 

“Are you alright?” Peter asked, still worried. He stood there awkwardly, torn between resting a hand on Neal’s shoulder and giving him his space. 

Neal nodded, pushed himself up slowly from the wall and stood there, trying to keep the world from spinning. He felt a hand on his shoulder and focused on that, letting New York fall back into place.

Peter looked like he was about to say something, but Neal shook his head before he could start. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said quietly. 

Peter nodded. “Come on, I’ll drive you home,” he said, and began guiding the CI forward. Neal let him, too exhausted to fight it. He wanted to run, for the ground to swallow him, to never see Peter again now that any respect the agent could’ve possibly had for him was gone. He tried not to think about how he’d effectively just wasted Peter’s lunch hour, as well as gotten half a day at work off. But the thoughts kept coming, and the only conclusion he could draw was that Peter was done, he’d finally seen how much trouble Neal really was, that he’d send the conman back to prison tomorrow morning, after he’d had time to talk to Hughes and start the paperwork. 

Peter sneaked glances at his CI the whole ride to June’s house, but didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t have known what to say, even if Neal had looked alert enough to listen. 

The conman was leaning against the car window, his eyes unmoving. He still looked pale and fragile, and Peter found it strange to see him like this. Neal Caffrey was always so confident, so full of life. He could only imagine what had prompted all that. 

Neal Caffrey had had a panic attack. 

Even after seeing it with his own eyes Peter found it hard to believe. Neal, who was always two steps ahead of everything. Neal, who was able to act unfazed by anything anyone threw at him. Neal, who managed to keep up a suave facade even in the most high-pressure situations.

The worst part was, Peter had no idea what to do or what to say. Neal was still embarrassed, clearly, but there was something else Peter couldn’t quite place. It was heartbreaking to see the young conman look so resigned, so broken, but worse to not know how to fix it. 

Somehow Peter doubted Neal needed him to fix anything right now, but that’s what he did. Peter Burke made things right. Emotion had never been Peter’s strong suit, so he kept quiet, gave Neal his space, and tried to figure out how he could make this right. 

As soon as they pulled up outside of June’s house, Neal undid his seatbelt and opened the door. He could feel his eyes stinging but he blinked them dry, determined to keep at least some of his dignity. He’d broken down in the middle of the street for no reason and without warning. After all that, Peter didn’t need to see him cry, too. 

“Neal?” Peter said, getting out of the car and jogging to catch up with his CI. “I get that you don’t want to talk about this, but I need to know. Is something going on that you haven’t told me about?”

Neal turned around, ready to snap at the insinuation and ask to be left alone, but there was no accusation behind Peter’s words. Just genuine concern. Neal thought about telling Peter everything, about the nightmares and the sleeplessness and the anxiety attacks, but as he looked Peter in the eye, the one man that had stood by him through all the shit he’d pulled, the one man he trusted completely despite everything… he couldn’t. He couldn’t admit to Peter that he was weak, and scared, and had no idea how to handle life at the moment. Peter’s opinion of him meant too much. 

So instead he shook his head, forced a tight smile and thanked Peter for driving him home, promising to be at work early tomorrow morning. He thought about apologising, too, but figured that would take the conversation in a direction he didn’t want it to. 

“Take care, alright? I’ll see you tomorrow,” Peter said, waiting for Neal to go inside before turning and going back to his car.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyy :)
> 
> almost done. enjoy!

June wasn’t home when he came in, and as horrible as he felt it would’ve been worse to have to talk to someone. He climbed the stairs as quickly as he could manage before stepping into his apartment, locking the door behind him. 

Fuck.

Images of Peter’s reaction kept floating around in his mind, and he cringed as he thought about how it must’ve looked from Peter’s point of view. 

Any respect he had for me is now definitely gone…

He pushed the thought aside before looking around, not completely sure what he should do with himself. He was exhausted and embarrassed and overthinking something he couldn’t help at the moment. No way he could make it to tomorrow without going insane. 

He decided to take a shower, too close to tears to feel comfortable doing anything else. After locking the door behind him he began to remove his clothes, starting with his tie, which was beginning to feel like it was suffocating him. He shivered as he took off his shirt, feeling strangely raw and vulnerable.

He tried to keep from crying until he was safely in the shower and the hot water was indiscernible from his tears, but his eyes were stinging long before then. The first drop streamed down his face just as he turned the water on, and as hot water washed over him he let the sobs come, too drained to fight it anymore. 

Peter was eager to get home that night, finding it hard to concentrate with Neal on his mind. He felt like he was missing something important, something sensitive and personal. 

Peter Burke wasn’t the greatest at sensitive and personal. 

“Hey hon,” he called out as he closed the front door behind him, hanging up his coat before heading into the kitchen. “Dinner smells fantastic.”

“Hey hon,” El said back, kissing him quickly before turning back to the stove. He didn’t recognise what she was making but it looked good, and that was enough for him. He wanted to say it was because he trusted his beautiful wife, but really he was too preoccupied to pay much mind to what they’d be eating.

He headed upstairs to lock his gun away before coming back down and taking a seat at the kitchen table, not realising he’d spaced out until El brought the food to the table. 

“Long day?” she asked, sliding a hand over his shoulder and rubbing his back a little.

“Yeah,” he said simply. 

“Hard case?”

“No, actually. Today was all paperwork.” Her hand stopped on his back for a second, and he could tell she was waiting for some kind of explanation. “Neal had a panic attack.”

She stopped and came around to sit beside him, her eyes scanning his face for a clue to what had happened. “Poor Neal. Is he okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. I drove him home, told him to take the rest of the day off.”

She nodded, and when he didn’t continue, asked, “What happened?”

He didn’t want to remember how bad Neal had looked, how drained and ashamed he’d been afterwards, but he desperately needed El’s input.

He told her about how quiet he’d been all morning, and how even though something seemed off nothing had been particularly alarming. He told her about the forced charm and tired smiles, and why he’d decided to take Neal to lunch. He explained how nothing really seemed that wrong until they got to the street outside. He had to pause and take a deep breath before going into how Neal had gone all pale, and his breathing had been off, and how terrifying it was to watch his friend go through it all without knowing what to do. El smiled as he called Neal a friend, but his mind didn’t take much note of that. Neal was a friend. 

“It happened in the middle of a busy street?” El asked, her expression a mix of sympathy and concern. Peter just nodded, his lips pressed tightly together. “Poor Neal.”

“I don’t know if it would’ve been worse if we’d been at the office. At least this way no one else knows.” The feeling of not quite getting everything was still there, and it was doing his head in. “I feel like I’m missing something, El. Something big.”

“Why?”

Peter let out a long breath, thinking carefully about how Neal had been acting lately. “Jones came to see me a couple of weeks ago, said Neal looked a little sick. He’s been more quiet and tired over the last few months than normal, but nothing alarming, really. It’s just that… today I got a sense that it wasn’t his first time having one.”

“Did you ask him if something’s been going on?”

“I did. Said he didn’t want to talk about it. I asked if something happened that I needed to know about and he said no. Didn’t push it further.” 

She nods in understanding, putting a hand on his arm. “You did good, hon.”

He pushes away the part of him that disagrees, focusing instead on the rapidly cooling dinner in front of him. “I hope so. Now let’s eat, before this goes cold.”

El was long asleep, and part of him was glad. He didn’t think he would be falling asleep anytime soon. Another part of him hoped she could smile reassuringly and tell him it’d be okay, but he pushed the thought away. 

He slipped under the covers as quietly and carefully as he could, before reaching over and turning off the light on his bedside table. The darkness was welcoming, in a sense, providing a certain clarity for his mind to work.

Think. Put the pieces together. 

He thought back to everything he’d noticed about Neal over the past few months. He knew the young conman had taken Kate’s death hard, but he’d never really stopped to think about how badly it had affected his CI. Neal wasn’t exactly an open person, and was masterfully good at faking emotion, but Peter still felt like he should’ve noticed something. 

“Hon?” El said, shifting to face Peter. He reached over to turn on his bedside lamp before sitting up a little. 

“I thought you were asleep.”

El purses her lips together in an almost-smile and sits up too, turning her own light on. 

“Thinking about Neal?”

He nods, sighing. It was late, and he was tired. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he got his thoughts in order. 

“I knew he took Kate badly, but I hadn’t realised it was this bad. I don’t know how long he’s been having these attacks but it’s been a while.” He brought a hand up to the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, feeling a headache coming on. “I just keep thinking I should’ve noticed, should’ve checked up on him, should’ve double checked he really was okay when he said he was.”

“As sweet and wonderful as he is, he’s still a conman, hon. A brilliant one, too. It’s not your fault. When Neal doesn’t want people to know how he’s feeling he does an amazing job of hiding it.”

Peter sat there for a second, contemplating everything. “I’m not just anyone.”

“I know you’re not. It still doesn’t make it your fault.” El smiled and took his hand gently, and he couldn’t help but smile back. “Besides, there’s not much we can do about the past. I think what we should be figuring out is the best way to help him.”

He nods, and leans in to kiss her. 

“Thanks, hon.”

“You’re welcome. Tomorrow morning we can talk more about this. Right now, we both need some sleep.”

Peter smiled as he sunk back into the sheets, feeling like the luckiest man alive. Elizabeth was everything he could ever wish for. 

“Goodnight, hon,” he said. 

“Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading :)
> 
> chapter 6 is on its way..


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter!
> 
> hope you like it :)

The following morning Peter walked into the office bright and early, deciding the familiarity of the glass walls and the morning quiet would help him think. He and El had discussed what to do about Neal over breakfast, and something she’d said had stuck with him. 

He just lost one of the most important people in his life. He’s feeling alone. What he needs right now is a friend, more than anything else.

It seemed pretty obvious in retrospect, but Peter hadn’t thought about how Neal would now be feeling in relation to everything else in his life. It had been stupid to assume all the conman was feeling was grief and loss. 

How was he supposed to show Neal he cared in a natural, non-awkward way? For it to work at all Neal had to let himself be vulnerable, and not close off the second Peter brought Kate up. From recent experience that alone was going to be a challenge. 

The day passed without much opportunity to talk. Neal was quiet and kept out of the way and Peter was preoccupied all day with various different briefings and meetings. He was finishing the last of his paperwork, hoping to catch Neal on the way out of the office, when a know came from his door. 

“Boss?” Diana said, panting slightly. He looked up and she paused by the door, one hand on the frame. “The Wheeler case just got a major breakthrough. We know where the diamonds are. A team is on their way right now.”

Peter got up, a smile spreading across his face as he let himself forget everything else. They’d been chasing Thomas Wheeler for months now, and finally being able to put him away would be an extremely satisfying experience. 

“Great. Text me the location, I’ll go tell Neal.”

The drive over was quiet, which Peter assumed was because Neal was still embarrassed over what had happened the day before. He managed to sneak a few glances at his CI and found him leaning against the window, probably staring at the buildings they were passing. Peter didn’t think much of it. 

It was only when they arrived that Peter realised his CI had his eyes closed. Now that he’d stopped to notice Neal looked beyond exhausted, the dark shadows under his eyes more prominent in the current light. 

“Sorry,” Neal mumbled, feeling Peter’s gaze on him and opening his eyes. Realising that they’d arrived made his throat contract for a moment, thinking maybe he’d disrupted something somehow, but then he saw Diana and Jones giving instructions to the other agents and decided they must’ve just gotten here. 

Peter looked like he was about to say something but Diana beat him to it. “Boss? Are we ready?”

Peter tore his eyes away from Neal and pushed everything that wasn’t case-related out of his mind. One thing at a time. “Yes. Neal, stay in the car.”

The conman usually would’ve argued, but Peter’s tone didn’t leave much room for debate. Not that he thought he would be much help out there anyway. 

“FBI, open up.” When no response came, an agent kicked down the door. 

Thomas Wheeler was armed and posed to shoot anyone who came in, but dropped the weapon quickly when he realised he was outnumbered. Peter enjoyed informing him he was under arrest a little less than he usually did, but didn’t let himself think too much of it. He just needed to focus for a little longer. 

“Boss?” Diana called from the kitchen. She came back into the hallway moments later with a briefcase full of money. 

“Perfect. Log it into evidence. All of this should be more than enough,” he said, before turning to Jones. “Jones, take Wheeler back to the office. I’ll be right behind you, but I need to deal with something first.”

Jones nodded and escorted Wheeler out of the apartment and Peter followed a little behind, no longer paying attention. They reached the street level and he stood off to the side, waiting to see them both get into the car and drive off before getting into his own car. 

Neal was, to Peter’s surprise, awake, even if just barely. He wasn’t sure if it was the light but the conman looked exceptionally pale, a thin layer of sweat just about visible on his neck. If Peter didn’t know better he’d say his CI was about to be sick. 

It was Neal who spoke first, breaking the silence. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, staring at his hands. Peter wanted to ask why he was sorry but stopped himself, deciding that taking the conversation in that direction wasn’t going to help much. 

“Are you okay?” he went with instead. He could tell the question took Neal by surprise. The conman glanced briefly up at Peter, his expression a mix of both confused and touched, before turning away quickly and staring out of the window. Peter would’ve been hurt if he hadn’t seen him try to blink away tears. 

Neal wanted to tell Peter everything. He wanted to find the courage to say no, I’m not okay. I haven’t been okay in a long time. He wanted to admit he had hardly slept at all last night, guilt and anxiety keeping him from falling asleep. He wanted to tell him about Kate and how he kept hearing her voice, and how every time he thought about the explosion he felt sick. He wanted to finally get all of it out there, to stop having to pretend and smile, to let the one person he trusted completely know how alone he felt, how broken and exhausted and done he felt. 

But he couldn’t. Not without embarrassing himself. He was barely keeping it together as it was, and he knew there was no way he could get any words out. 

So instead he shook his head, keeping his eyes steadily on the buildings outside, willing his eyes to dry and for Peter to just understand. 

Peter did. He watched as his CI shook his head slowly and knew even that had taken a lot of courage. Carefully, Peter put his hand on Neal’s shoulder, feeling the muscles tense under his palm before slowly relaxing, melting under the touch. It was Peter’s way of letting him know it was okay, that he was safe and that someone cared, and the reassurance brought on a wave of emotion he couldn’t suppress. 

He was crying softly before he could stop himself, the tears coming too fast for him to blink them away. Peter realised what was happening and gave his shoulder a small squeeze, understanding that there was nothing to be said right now. He just had to be there.

Eventually Neal managed to compose himself enough to dry his eyes and turn away from the window, but still refused to look at Peter. The embarrassment of falling apart was catching up with him, and he wished he could vanish and never return. How was he supposed to face Peter now that he knew everything over the last few months had been fake? How was he supposed to look Peter in the eye after pretending to be whole and happy while really he was in pieces, barely holding himself together?

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Peter said, gently but still matter-of-factly. “No one expects you to be alright all the time.”

Neal couldn’t help but glance up at the words, trying to figure out if Peter meant it. If he really didn’t mind that Neal wasn’t coping the way any normal person should be able to. 

He found nothing but reassurance in Peter’s eyes, and for the first time in a while he allowed himself a small, genuine smile. Peter cared. Somehow, he’d find a way to manage the nightmares and the panic attacks and all the thoughts that kept him awake at night. He didn’t have to pretend, not anymore.

Peter made quick work of interrogating Wheeler. The evidence was overwhelming so getting a confession wasn’t hard. He told Jones to finish up the paperwork and go home, before walking up to his office to grab his coat. Neal was at his desk, any sign that he’d been crying now completely gone. Peter gathered the last of his things before heading down, stopping in front of his CI. 

“Come on, you’re coming home with me tonight. El’s making us all dinner.” 

Neal opened his mouth to argue but Peter was already walking away towards the elevators. He didn’t miss the conman’s smile as he grabbed his coat and hat and followed, suddenly glad his life had turned out the way it had. 

That night, having spent the evening talking about nothing in particular while eating with the Burkes, Ne let himself relax. He slipped under the covers and closed his eyes, sleepy and content for the first time in a long time. He didn’t doubt that it would be a long time before his nightmares stopped, but right now it didn’t really matter.

He was going to be okay, and he had Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for getting this far! I enjoyed writing this. 
> 
> let me know what you think :)


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